Brit, it's over BACK ON!

So sexy it's frightening.

Every time I read another depressing story about Britney Spears getting married, or divorced, or making some dumbass comment, or getting married again, I just shake my head and say, "Brit, that tartan skirt and those braids were REALLY working for me, but at this point, I'd say you've basically reached your peak."

Then I see an ad like this one, and just like that, all of her trailer-trashy behavior is forgiven.

Note the smoldering dark brown eyes, and her plump, luscious lips, complete with deep arroyo down the middle of the bottom one. Guys, don't even TRY to tell me you are not fantasizing about having those babies wrapped around your pulsating johnson.

Oh, and Brit, to answer your question, yes, I dare.....

Gag me with a spoon greeting card

Fuck her. I don't want to see her face again.

Stephanie had been perfect the whole time we had been together, just perfect. Not talking about "us" or asking "where we stand". I actually LIKED that she had a boyfriend, because it meant that she would take it slow while we got to know each other.

I got the impression that she was conflicted, that she really loved that FBI dork, and that she was sorting through her feelings and needed time. And her being at arm's length gave me breathing room enough to start caring about her. And I did!

Now, the words "clingy" and "needy" come to mind. That card sounded like it was written by a lovesick 16-year-old. My brother Chris had tons of girlfriends in high school, and sometimes I would sneak into his desk and read his love letters from them, and they sounded exactly like Stephanie's card. And she's 23!

I don't like the idea that she is already talking about settling down with me (commitment-phobe, indeed!). What the fuck is she DOING?

**********

Friday, October 22.

I'll just dodge her calls until she gets tired of chasing me. I hope she doesn't come to my office and make a scene. She also knows where I live, but I can just ignore her if she shows up there.

Today is the worst fucking day in the history of my professional life. We have been converting to a new payroll tax system, and due to setup errors, about $80,000 in tax payments have been submitted late. I am looking at $4,000 - $5,000 in penalties.

Employees have been dashing into my office all day long, armed with penalty notices from the IRS and other agencies. Fran, our CFO, has been up my ass for hours, screaming at me over the phone.

6:37 pm. Fran calls me a "fucking idiot".

It takes a lot to piss me off. The best way to do it is to wear me down. If you really want to make me blow up, you have to eat at me, just drip, drip, drip on my head like Chinese water torture. I don't lose it easily, but when I do, you better head for the hills.

I feel myself snapping, but something interesting happens.

I look over at Mona Lisa. She's smiling, just like she always does. She's been holding that same pose for hundreds of years, through wars, droughts, famines, terrorist attacks.

She makes me think: Besides death, what is there, really, that can't be fixed? Is any tragedy really as bad as we think it is? There really is not much in this world worth getting upset about, is there?

Surprisingly, I take a deep breath and I am able to calm down. Still can't let this dickface off the hook, though.

"Fran, that is the first and last time you are ever going to disprespect me like that. You understand?"

"No, Steve, I don't."

"That's too bad. Because the next time you fuck with me, you're gonna regret it."

"Is that a threat-"

Click.

I walk outside. I have hours of work still to do. Fuck it.

I get in my car and start driving. I can't relax. My heart is pounding, I'm breathing heavy, and I keep fidgeting in my seat. So much for the Mona Lisa effect!

Finally, I pull over at a rest stop. I really need to talk to someone who can calm me down. I stare at my phone for a long moment. Then I call Stephanie.

"Hello?"

"Hey," I say.

"Hey."

"How are you?"

"OK, Steve, how are you?" she sounds afraid.

"I got your card."

"I... figured. I want to apologize, Steve."

"For what?"

"That was dumb. I know I came on too strong. I know I aggravated you."

"You do?"

"It's just that, I wasn't ready to sleep with you yet, and I didn't want you to think that I wasn't interested!"

"I knew you were."

"And, far be it for me to make excuses, but I had just watched 'An Officer and a Gentleman', so I was in an extremely cheesy romantic mood."

"Well, then I guess it was a good thing you didn't watch 'A Clockwork Orange'," I say.

"He he he!!"

"I hear ya," I say, finally. "Hey, look. I think we were off to a really good start."

"Absolutely. I'm sorry for messing that up."

"You know, something tells me you are not as cheesy as you look on paper."

"You mean on greeting cards?"

"Yeah. I guess I shoulda said 'recycled paper'." She laughs.

"I mean, you said some really sweet things in there. And to be honest..."

"Yeah...."

"I was actually really flattered. And I kinda feel the same way. In a way."

"Well, then thank you. In a way."

"Welcome."

I get back on the road. I am feeling better.

"Steve."

"Ya."

"I'm just gonna tell you: I promise that I am cool with the way things are. I mean, I'm not totally ready to get into something serious with you right now."

"OK," I say.

"OK. Hey."

"Hm?"

"I'm glad we talked," she says.

"Me too."

"OK, Steve, well I probably ought to get studying."

"OK. Do you wanna get a drink later?"

"I'll need a break around 10."

"I'll pick you up."

Ten o'clock is bootie call time, my friends. Methinks this is back on....

"Red Sox fans have longed to hear it: The Boston Red Sox are world champions!"

How cool is this!!

WU-HUUUUUUUUU!!

Ahem.

While I am out drinking champagne and partying my ass off, read this greeting card that I found under my windshield wiper the other day....


Dear Steve,

You better get some tissues to cry in, 'cause I'm about to get majorly sentimental on yo' ass...

I really just want to say "thank you". Not only because I feel like I have dumped on you big time these last couple of weeks, but because it's been really amazing getting to know you and spending time with you.

You've really helped me deal with all my stress at a time in my life when I felt like I was losing it, and you've done it by making me laugh, and making me think, and being such an amazing friend and confidante(sp?) as well as someone who makes me want to rip his clothes off (and mine too)...

Every time I talk to you, I feel "it", and I realize that THIS is what it is supposed to be like between two people who care about each other. It's supposed to be EASY, and you're not supposed to have to think about it. That's just how I feel when I am with you.

I've got baggage, and I know you do too, and I don't know what's going to happen between us. But I do know that no matter what happens you are going to make a girl really happy someday. And you know what? I really hope that girl is me!! (ok, stop freaking out, Mr. Commitment-phobe!)

Who can ask for more than what you have to offer? I mean you are good-looking, funny (always the comedian), smart, successful, and you don't like to show it, but you are a big softie deep down inside (I saw you tearing up at the end of "Field of Dreams", so don't even try denying it :) ).

I cherish our time together because you make me laugh, and make me relax, and you REALLY know how to show a girl a good time. You are charming and beautiful and intelligent and sexy and a million other things to me. There is no one else in the world who is just like you, Steve.

The things that used to get under my skin don't bother me anymore, because whatever it is, I know that I will have someone to talk to and "vent" to about it, and that you will listen, care, and understand.

Even if there is no solution to a problem, I still feel better knowing that I have someone to explain it to and that you are going through the same thing. Do you understand? Yeah, I thought you would understand...

And to top it all off, you've got really really good aim. You are just a regular William Tell!

I can't wait to see you tomorrow....

Love and kisses,
Steph

The fallout continues

I have become very adept at predicting what people are going to say.

I'll be walking across the office, on my way to meet with someone, and I'll find myself rehearsing what I'm going to say, and trying to anticipate what they will say in return, and how I would react to it. I do this all the time, and as a result, I almost never get caught off guard.

Sometimes I will sit an employee down in my office before a conference call, and say, "Now. When we say this, he's going to say that." And sure enough, we'll make the call, and as the person on the other line does just as I had predicted, the employee will just stare at me, open-mouthed.

So just imagine how my wheels started turning when Theresa from IT called Bonnie last week and asked for an appointment to see me. "She's acting very strangely," says Bonnie.

"How so?"

"She sounded...upset. Like she was going to cry."

"Did she say what she wanted?"

"No. Just that, 'Since Steve has such an open door policy, I want to speak to him'. That kind of thing."

Theresa was friends with Lila. But they didn't hang around outside of work, at least not that I know about. I wonder if Lila talked to her about me.

I told Bonnie to give Theresa 15 minutes and to schedule something immediately after so I could make her finish up quickly.

Theresa walks into my office. She is pale. Her hands are shaking.

"Hi, Theresa!"

"Hi."

"What can I do for you?"

"Steve, I'm really upset about something."

"What's that?"

"Why did Lila leave the company?"

"Theresa, you know I can't discuss that."

"She is a REALLY good friend of mine," Theresa says, her voice shaking. "And she's REALLY having a hard time right now. And if what she says is true, then you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Steve."

The temptation here is to ask what she has heard. But that gives Theresa a chance to tell her story, and I am not in the mood for a story. Actually, though, it might be nice to hear what Lila is telling her. What the hell. I'll bite.

"And what does she say, Theresa?"

"She says you were having sex with her, and you broke up with her. And that you were cheating on her."

Fuck. She found out about Kelly. HOW?! Not that it matters.

"Theresa-"

"Don't you think that's inappropriate, Steve? She's young enough to be your DAUGHTER! And you're the DISTRICT MANAGER! Do you think that's right?"

I've had this conversation a million times in my head, hypothetically. I know exactly what to say and how to say it. "Theresa, you do realize this is a rumor, right? You're confronting me on a RUMOR."

"Why would she lie, Steve?"

"I have no idea."

"Are you saying it's not true?"

"I'm saying I don't respond to rumors."

"Steve, that's such CRAP!" she sneers, raising her voice. "If it was not true, you'd just say so."

"Until next time, when there are three other rumors. And then I deny them, too, and pretty soon that's all I'm doing. But because I denied all the others, now I have to deny them all, otherwise it looks suspicious," I say.

"Yeah, well, that's a very clever answer. You should have been a lawyer, Steve."

Oh, thanks! Stephanie says so, too. Stephanie is the new girl I'm with, by the way. Since you seem so interested in my sex life, I just thought you'd like to know. By the way, any ideas on how I can get her to drop her panties for me?

Theresa is really starting to piss me off. I think it's time to end this meeting.

"Theresa." I say. "Your friend is having a hard time right now, and I can't tell you how sorry I am about that. But you are here as an employee, and I am here as the manager of this office. Now, if you have a problem as an employee, I'm all ears. But I cannot and will not help you with your FRIENDS' problems."

"You ARE the problem, Steve," she says, and storms out.

Something tells me this isn't over.

**********

Tuesday, 2:30. My phone rings. It's dad.

"Steve, we're having a family dinner this Friday night. I'd like you and Lila to come."

"Dad, why do you have those on Friday nights anyway? People go OUT on Fridays."

"You're the only one who didn't show up last time."

"Ahhhh..."

"Yeah. Ah," he says. "Steve, I really want you to be a part of this family. Lila too."

"Dad, we broke up."

"WHAT?! Steve, what happened?"

"Long story, dad."

"Oh, Steve. I think you're making a big mistake. I don't unders-"

"Hey dad."

He stops.

"If I need help living my life, you'll be the first one I'll call."

"Yeah, I forgot. You know everything, Steve."

**********

Friday night, 6:30. I pull into dad's driveway. There are cars everywhere. Everyone must be here already.

I walk up to the door and open it. I hear voices and laughter. Why do I feel like an outsider all of a sudden?

I walk up the foyer stairs to the living room. Six or seven heads turn to look at me. The conversations stop. No one says hello.

"Where's the babe?" Greg says. His wife slaps his shoulder.

"We broke up," I say.

"What happened," Nancy asks.

"Well, with work and everything, I just couldn't spend enough time with her. She really needs me around all the time, and I couldn't do it."

Dad shakes his head, frowning. "You found a beautiful girl, Steve. I think your priorities are screwed up. You would think with your mother dying you would realize that."

"Lila was so sweet," Janet says. "I can't believe she would break up with you because you're busy at work!"

"Yeah, Steve," Chris says. "Did you guys even talk about it?"

"I betcha he just dumped her," Greg says. "That's what Steve does. He just stops calling 'em when he gets bored."

"Did you even TALK to her?!" Dad says. Everyone stops talking and looks at me.

I don't have a bad temper. It takes a lot to make me lose my grip. But one way to do it is to second-guess me, or tell me how to run my life. I raised myself, basically, so the least people could do is give me the benefit of the doubt.

"Yeah. We talked." I snap. I walk to the kitchen and get a glass of milk.

"I don't understand this bit about not spending time with her," dad says. "There's gotta be more to it than that."

"Were you cheating?" Greg says.

"Steve, I think you're making a huge mistake," says dad.

I close my eyes slowly and bite my lower lip. God dammit, he is testing my patience.

"Dad, enough," Chris says.

"Do you want us to talk to her?" Janet says.

"Yeah!" says Nancy.

"Do I want you to TALK to her? Do I want you to TALK to her?!" I shout.

"Sorry."

"No. I want you all to leave me the fuck alone!" I yell. Then I get up and storm out the front door.

Hey, dad, I'm a bit hungry. Mind if I take some peas and mushrooms on my way out?

*gag alert* exploring my feelings

Good morning all, and don't forget to check out the t-shirt pix I just posted..... and check out the Mildly Unwell store for other cool designs!

**********

I can't ever remember feeling pressure like I've felt the last few months.

Work is just insane. Every day there is a new problem, another panicky VP who has a crisis and "has no idea what to do" about it, another employee needing "just five minutes" of my time, another meeting to attend, another turf battle that I must mediate, another angry phone caller to calm down.

My day consists of one meeting after another, and I leave each one with a long list of things to do - a list I can't act on, because I have more meetings to get to. My phone doesn't stop ringing until 6pm, so sometimes I work until 11 to get caught up.

Sometimes I wonder how Ross seemed so calm, so decidedly unbusy all the time, until I realize that he simply ignored a lot of the problems that cropped up; problems that are surfacing now that he's gone.

I know I'm being a whiny-ass. I don't need sympathy. I love my job and my life. My point is that I have been stressing out a lot lately. Then there was mom dying, and the horrifying realization that I had fallen in love with a very young girl, and the resulting breakup and subsequent work-related drama.

I know, I know. Whining again.

It's been great spending time with Stephanie. She is going through a lot of the same things I am. Just like me, she's always felt that she had life well in hand. Then she got to law school, and suddenly, the other students were just as smart, just as competitive, just as motivated as she was. Suddenly the work load got so heavy that the thought of getting the flu actually freaked her out, because losing a day of studying meant even less sleep, more eating at her desk, and more panic about staying current with the new assignments that keep piling up.

It's nice to know that someone else is going through what I am. It's comforting to hear her laugh, to see her take a deep breath and relax, because it reminds me that if she can do it, I can too.

Steph and I have had some really great talks. I've secretly wondered what her situation is with her FBI boyfriend, why he travels so much, why he is so cheap, why she seems so miserable with him, and why she stays with him. But you guys know me: I'll never ask. My job is to make her FORGET him, not remember him.

Every once in a while, she'll make a little comment about "el cheapo", or "that loser". I'll smile and nod; she'll move on.

Two Saturdays ago, we talked and sent messages back and forth all day, while I was working and she was studying. Finally, around 7:30, we decided to go out for drinks. While we were talking, she really opened up.

"I am so unhappy with Paul," she says.

I don't answer.

"I mean, I really love him, and I've been with him a year, but I am so unhappy. I feel guilty because he travels for work, and it's not his fault that he can't see me, and I feel like I'm holding it against him."

"But he calls you every day, right? And he e-mails you and sends you cards?" I know damn well he doesn't. But if she is going to insist on talking about him, I might as well make him look like crap.

"Ha!" she says. "He hasn't called me in two weeks! And cards cost money, so I can forget that."

"Why the hell is he so cheap?" I say. I can't help it.

"Do you know you've already spent more on me than he has?" she says.

"Come on!"

"I MEAN it!"

"After a YEAR?" I ask, incredulous.

"Yes. He is the cheapest man in the world."

"So where do you guys eat? Soup kitchens?"

"No, he either cooks for me, or he takes me to his mother's house and she cooks for us."

"OK, so if you are putting up with all this cheapness, he must be able to lick his eyebrows."

"Huh?"

"He must be awesome in bed," I say.

She shakes her head and scoffs, looking down at her cosmopolitan. "He has the Irish curse," she says, finally.

"What?"

She holds up her pinky.

"Well, don't they say that it's not the size of the wave-"

"He hates sex," she says. "I practically have to beg him to do it...I can't BELIEVE I'm telling you this!"

"I'm listening."

"He's totally disinterested. And when we do finally do something, he usually goes limp, or he doesn't finish."

Now, guys, you see EXACTLY why I never give a shit about whether or not a girl is "taken". If I were less experienced, I would have heard the word "boyfriend" and moved on to someone else. As it turns out, she is totally sexually frustrated, and in a dead-end relationship that she is just dying to get out of. She was probably just waiting to meet someone else before she dumps this clown.

Most guys are stupid. Most guys wouldn't even try for a girl like Steph because she is with someone. All the better for me.

"So he's small and he doesn't finish. I'm not perfect, but I don't have either one of THOSE problems," I say.

"I KNOW, dummy!" she smiles.

"So that's why you got hit in the eye. You're outta practice," I say.

She laughs. "I must not be doing my job if he's going soft on me."

"Let me tell you what you do," I say. "Go to Prints Plus and get a big framed poster of The Rock, and hang it on the wall behind you, and I betcha he finishes, no problem."

"Ste-eve!" she laughs. "He's not queer!"

"Why not?" I say. "It would explain his lack of interest, wouldn't it?"

"Why would he date me if he was gay?"

"Maybe so his overbearing, dinner-cooking mother doesn't pop a cranial artery."

"Ya, good point." she says. "Jeez, it's like you know him."

"Can I ask you a question," I say.

"What?"

"You said you love him. Why do you say that, if you are so unhappy?"

"Because, I just like the idea of being with him, of him having a good job and providing for me, and me never having to worry about money or a place to live. And I just felt, really, proud that he has such a prestigious job, and he's so successful..."

"So what you're telling me is that you're a golddigger," I smile.

"Yeah, a real golddigger. The guy won't take me to Olive Garden unless he's got a coupon."

What a total, complete fucking loser. But again, good for me.

I feel more and more comfortable with Stephanie as time passes. I feel like I can tell her anything. So maybe it's time to.

"Actually, there's something that's been bothering me," I say.

She looks down at the floor. "I know," she says.

"What am I gonna say?"

"You're mad that I haven't slept with you yet."

"I'm not mad!"

"You're disappointed."

"No..." now I am looking down.

"Steve, just be honest. It's ok. I know you're really angry with me."

"You gave me head. Why would I be angry?"

"You need more than head."

"I-"

"Don't you?"

I actually don't know how to answer. If I tell her the truth, I'll look like a pervert. Or a whiner. Or like I don't give a shit about her, only about getting down her pants.

"I wouldn't mind sleeping with you!"

"One thing you need to understand about me is that I really need a lot of trust before I can sleep with someone," she says. "It's a big deal to me. I hope you'll understand, cause I really like you, Steve."

"I like you too," I say.

"Will you be patient for me?"

"Sure."

Yeah, sure. Until the next one comes along.

Hot chicks wearing Steverino shirts

Keep those pix coming guys!


Rakkel


TL


Dark Angel

Steph's interview, Heidi's blowjob. Strike that, reverse it....

I feel very strongly that the boss ought to be involved in every single job interview.

Whether you are hiring an executive-level VP or a mail room clerk, it makes a difference to have the CEO walk into the room and introduce himself at the end of the interview. Remember, to successfully hire someone, you have to choose a candidate, and that candidate also has to choose YOU. Sometimes the person you want is fielding more than one job offer, and a smile and a warm handshake from the guy running the show sometimes makes a difference. This was one of the best lessons I ever learned from Ross. I didn't always agree with him, but I really think he got this one right.

I explained this policy about interviews to Dom, and he liked it very much. I promised him that I would be free to come in for five minutes once he was done interviewing Heidi.

Bonnie buzzes me. "Dom is ready for you now, Steve."

As I walk to his office, something occurs to me. I look across the floor, and see the rows and rows of cubicles, the huge picture windows, and the employees bustling around, busily solving a million little problems. This is MY office, I think. I am the fucking boss. ME!

I open Dom's door. Dom and Heidi stand up to greet me.

Heidi surprises me. Her glasses are gone; her eyes are big and brown. Her hair is freshly washed, a mass of big black curls tumbling down to her shoulders. She's wearing a long blue skirt and a beige blouse with matching one-inch heels.

Holy shit! She's cute!

"Good morning, Steve!" she says, beaming. She seems genuinely happy to see me. I'm very cynical, and she actually sells me. And her voice is just like it was on the phone: Smooth, clear, and pleasant. She gives me a firm handshake and looks me right in the eye as she does.

She sits back down, smooths her skirt, and looks at me. She's waiting, patiently, for me to speak. What happened to the chick who hates awkward silences?

"So, tell me, how did the interview go?" I say.

"Very well," she says. She stops smiling. "I'm really impressed by your company. I'm a little concerned about this position, though."

"Because."

"I don't like the idea of being someone's assistant," she says. "At my current position, I am an administrative assistant, and I work for the head of the department, but I'm not really HER assistant, per se."

OK, did this girl just use per se in a sentence?

Hey, honey! Who are you, and what have you done with the squeaky-voiced bimbo from the bar?

"You might think being someone's assistant is a step down," I say. "But in reality, it's probably a step UP for you. Yeah, you'd get Dom coffee sometimes. And sometimes you might pick up his drycleaning. But you know what? Assistants like Bonnie, who you met when you came in here, who have been with the company a long time - they are some of the most respected employees in the whole company."

"And FEARED," Dom says.

"And feared," I say. "Some people make the mistake of thinking that Bonnie is just a secretary, and they disrespect her in some way. People have been fired for it. The other executives know how important people like Bonnie are. A while back, she had had a bad year, and they all chipped in and bought her a mink coat for Christmas."

"Reeeally...." Heidi says, staring intently.

"Dom is the VP of operations, and his assistant is his eyes and ears. And in some cases, his hands and his feet. If we offer you this job, you might take it, and you might not, but don't let it be because it's not prestigious enough or not visible enough, because it definitely would be," I say.

"What can you tell me about the person who is in this position now? Why is she leaving?"

A long story, my friend. Actually, not long. I stopped fucking her. The end.

"She left for personal reasons. She was a great employee and we would have been happy to keep her around."

"What kind of experience did she have?"

Well, she was getting fucked by a 28-year-old when she was 14, I know that. She also smoked pot at 12 and snorted coke at 15. I guess you could call her a child prodigy.

This was just supposed to be a quick hello. Why the fuck didn't she ask Dom these questions?

"Believe it or not, she was an entry-level employee," I say.

"Wow!" Heidi says.

"Heidi," Dom says. "Based on everything I've heard here today, I'd like to offer you this position. I would go so far as to say that if you take this job, I would cancel my other interviews."

He makes her a salary offer. "It seems a bit low," she says.

"Dom," I say, after a dramatic pause. "I gave you a number before this interview, and as long as you stay within that number, I'm ok with whatever you want to do."

He looks down at a piece of paper on his desk, and increases his offer by $2000.

"I'll take it," Heidi says.

I probably don't have to tell you this, but Dom didn't have any other interviews scheduled, and I didn't give him any salary limit before the interview. It was all an act.

Looks like it worked.

**********

It's been a stressful week. I feel badly about Lila. She is a good person and I really hate the idea that she is caught in such a downward spiral, especially since a lot of it is my doing. I am going to call her in a week or so, when she gets her head together. I am actually hoping we can be friends at some point.

Yeah, I just said that.

Friday, 3:05. I call Stephanie. Voice mail.

"Steph, Steve. Please call." My famous four-word message.

Bonnie buzzes me. "Melissa needs to speak to you regarding the....bank balance?"

"OK," I say. Melissa walks in.

"Our statement is WAY outta balance," she says. We review some figures and it appears that $50,000 is missing. Holy shit!

My phone buzzes. I let it go to voice mail.

Melissa and I find the problem. She was forgetting to add in a credit transaction. We are in balance.

I check my voice mail. "Hi, Steve, it's Steph. My exam went well. I am ready to de-stress! Please call!" Then she kisses the phone with an audible smack! It actually gets me kind of hot.

I call her back. Voice mail. "Steph, Steve. Tag, you're it!" click.

I run to the bathroom to pee. And as Murphy's Law would have it, Stephanie waits until I've got my dick in my hand to call back.

I let go of my cock and grab for the phone. But my penis has a mind of its own, and it slithers this way and that, spewing piss everywhere like a runaway garden hose.

I let the call go to voice mail and wipe up the wall and floor with paper towels. Carl, one of our VP's, walks in while I am bent over, wiping the floor.

"You're supposed to pee in the urinals, sir," he says, unsmiling.

Gee, thanks. Whacko.

I check my voice mail. "Steve, Stephanie. AAARRRGH! Phone tag! Please call! Thanks babe!"

I call Stephanie back. She picks up on the first ring. "HELLO!?" she says.

"OH my God! Is this Stephanie's voice mail again?" I ask.

"No! I mean, Yes! Please leave a message at the beep!" she laughs.

We make arrangements to see Shark Tale tonight. "You want to get some drinks beforehand?"

"No. How about after," she says.

This could be good, actually. We watch the movie and get nice and cozy, THEN she gets good and liquored up. And just as her inhibitions are reduced to Johnny Knoxville levels, I take her home.

**********

Friday night. This ain't a movie review site, so I'm not gonna comment on Shark Tale. Suffice to say, it's a rental. As I watched the movie, I got an image of a bunch of studio executives sitting around a table saying, "We've got to capitalize on this underwater-themed-computer- generated-kids-movie-with-adult-jokes-in-it trend! Somebody come up with something! Anything! Quick!!" And Bob DeNiro is one of my favorite actors, but I have no idea why he continues to take work in such mediocre movies.

We didn't talk much through the movie, but I put my arm around her and she grabbed my hand when I did and held it the whole time. We whispered a few jokes back and forth, but the place was packed, so we were mostly quiet.

There's a quiet little bar about a mile from my house; I take Stephanie there afterwards.

Where you take a girl for drinks at a time like this is important. If you've already been together all night, and it's going well, you want someplace quiet and low-key where you can talk. If you're going out at the beginning of the night, that's when you want more of a party atmosphere where she will be tempted to drink, dance, and let her guard down so you can pounce.

Stephanie likes cosmopolitans. She has 3 or 4. I drink vodka-tonics. We talk the whole time, about college, and work, and our upbringings. I leave out the part about mom being a drunken whack job.

I'm actually having a great time. I think this bar was a perfect choice. But it's getting late, and now it's time to see where this is going. I have not had sex in what seems like a year.

"Wanna come over for a drink?"

"I'm drinking now," she says, smiling.

"Yeah, but the drinks are free at my house."

"Mmm-hmm. I doubt they're free," she says, smiling even wider.

I wave the waiter over for the check. She didn't say yes, exactly, but close enough. If she doesn't want to come over, she'll say something.

"Your house is beautiful!", she says as we pull into the drive. "You renovated this yourself?"

"A lot of it, yeah."

We get out of the car. "You wanna go for a walk?" I ask.

"OK," she says. She bumps her hip against mine and puts her arm around my waist. I do the same.

Stephanie looks really pretty tonight. She's wearing jeans and black cowboy-style boots with a fuzzy wool turtleneck. I love the way her hair flops in front of her face, and how she sweeps it away with a bent middle finger and thumb.

We walk around the block and stop in front of the pond. The "God, this is beautiful" pond. Let's see what she says when she sees it.

We stare at the water for a long moment. She doesn't say a word. But she takes a deep breath, and I feel her body relax.

Yeah, I'm getting laid tonight.

We get back to the house. "Your house is so clean! For someone who is so busy, there's nothing out of place."

"I don't like a mess."

"Oh really."

"Yeah."

"So why are you cheating then?"

I pull her to me. She pushes a hand gently against my chest. "Why do you always try to kiss me when I mention your girlfriend?"

"She's not my girlfriend. Anymore."

"What happened?"

"We disagreed on where the relationship was going."

Fuck. Now I need a good half hour to let things blow over before I move in again. This sucks.

I put on my "Forty Days and Forty Nights" DVD (Totally stupid, dumbass movie, but perfect for you guys who are looking to score, BTW). We watch for about an hour or so. Suddenly she is laying across the couch with her head in my lap.

I am insane with desire. I can't hear the movie anymore, just the pounding of the blood through my veins.

"Hey," I say.

She turns her head and looks up at me. I kiss her. Her tongue slides wetly into my mouth. Yum.

The kissing gets louder and wetter and faster and more urgent. I run my hand along her stomach and onto her tit. I squeeze, and she doesn't stop me.

Yeah, I'm having sex tonight.

She unbuttons and unzips me. I lift my hips up off the couch and she pulls my boxers down. My cock is long and hard, as if it's angry for being neglected for so long. "God," she says.

She looks up at me with her big hazel eyes. "Do you shave?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I don't like looking like a billy goat down there," I say.

"It's kind of nice, not having all that hair around," she says. "I like it!"

"How about you? Do you shave?" I say.

"Behave!" she says.

She runs her index finger up and down my shaft. If I don't come soon I feel like I am going to explode.

She looks up at me and smiles again, a beautiful, happy smile. I watch intently as she bends over and slowly feeds my cock into her mouth, working her lips over it like a giant stick of gum.

There is no popsicle-licking today. She is deep-throating me all the way. She's being more aggressive this time; I can feel the tip of my head hitting the back of her throat, hard, and there is no trace of a gag reflex.

The wet, squishy sound of her sucking makes me even hornier, if that is possible. She tilts her head back and stares at me while my bone slides smoothly in and out of her mouth.

I am going to come. There is no way I'm going to be able to hold out. I start to tell her, and she pulls it out. Some girls just know when a guy is about to blow his load.

Looks like I'm not getting laid after all.

She licks the tip, just a little, and strokes it gently with two fingers and a thumb. She looks up at me, smiles, and covers her eyes as I come. It's all over her cheek, and her chin, and the floor, too. And I am still hard.

I stop coming, and laugh out loud. So does she. She uncovers her eyes. "A-ha, you missed my eyes that time," she smiles.

"You shoulda told me, I would've let you borrow my weed-whacking goggles," I say.

Guess the password, win a whiner

I love driving in my car when I am stressed.

Sometimes I don't even turn on the radio. Or the iPod.

I bought one of those adapters that let you play your iPod in the car, and I am hopelessly addicted. I haven't listened to the radio in a month. I really hope they don't activate the Emergency Broadcast Sytem while I'm driving, because while everybody else is heading for low ground in anticipation of a terrorist bombing, I'll be bopping along to "Turning Japanese" by the Vapors.

The hum of the engine, and the rhythm of shifting the gears up and down, really calms me. It feels good to know that I'm not at my desk, and I can't hear my phone ring (at least not my office phone), and no one can stick their head in the door and tell me that they need me for "just a minute". Because it's never just a minute.

I'm pretty sure Lila gave me the right password. Something tells me she wanted me to come and see her, that she wanted to tell me how angry she was, and that she changed the password on purpose because she knew I would come to her to get it.

Once I get the spreadsheet opened, I really need to figure out how we are going to fill Lila's position. Lila answered the phone, and was really good at it. People loved hearing a real voice on the other end of the line. In the short term, we can go back to the automated attendant, but I really feel we have to replace her. Fast.

She also worked on a lot of reports and other miscellaneous duties for us. She was actually very productive, and loved her work. It's going to take someone really good to fill her shoes.

Back at the office. Four people are gathered around Lila's computer.

"'scuse me!" I say.

"Didja get the password?" Bonnie says.

"Yes. Move over."

"What was it? What happened? Why did she storm out of here?"

I start to type the password. Bonnie stares at my fingers. I give her a slow, angry glare. She turns away.

C-O-C-K-S-U-C-K-E-R, I type.

The spreadsheet opens.

"THANK GOD!" Bonnie says.

**********

Dom is sitting across from me in my office. "So how did it go? What was her deal?"

"She's nuts," I say. "Totally over the edge."

"I think she's drinking," Dom says. "She acted kinda drunk."

"Kinda."

"Steve, I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but..."

I look at him.

"How did you end up hiring her?"

"How did I HIRE her?"

"Did she apply, did she send you a resume..."

"Somebody referred her. Can't remember who," I say, dismissively. Move along, my friend. Nothing to see here.

"Was something going on between you two?"

"What?!"

"I know, I know. It's just that...I see her...looking at you sometimes. It's the way a little girl looks at her daddy."

"Ok, now that's just gross, Dom."

"No girl looks at a guy that way unless he's pounding her. Hard."

I roll my eyes and try to look disinterested. "If you say so, Dom."

"You were fucking her! You were!" he says, sitting up in his seat. "Of COURSE! It makes such sense now! You were dating her, and you got her the job here, and then you broke up with her, and she quit. Right?"

No. Actually, I WANTED to fuck her, so I hired her, and wore expensive suits and extra cologne for a couple of months until I charmed her into bed. Then my mother kicked the bucket, and I became a clingy little candyass, and spoiled her so much that I was doomed to shit with the door open for the rest of my life, lest she stress out over being "alone". But you get points for trying, Dom.

"If you say," I reply.

"I can't BELIEVE I didn't notice this earlier," he says softly, smiling.

"Are you done?" I say, impatiently.

He smiles wider. "You. Were. Fucking her! DAMMIT, Steve, you are good! You're incredible! And you never talk about girls, either. You like to work on the DL, don't you?"

"Dom."

"OK, OK," he says.

"Who are you going to hire to fill Lila's position?" I might as well try to delegate this one. After all, I recruited Lila, if you can call shopping at the Gap recruiting.

"I'm gonna hire Heidi," he says.

"Heidi WHO?"

"The one from the other night. You know, Megan's friend? She told me she was looking for a new job."

"WHAT?! That little chick? She's got diarrhea of the mouth," I say.

"She knows Access and Excel," he says. "She does a lot of work on the phone, also. Her resume is excellent. I also checked a reference and it was very good. I'm telling you, Steve, she's gonna be awesome!"

"I don't buy it," I say. "I cringe at the thought of her answering the phone here."

"She's gonna be a great employee," Dom says.

"Go get her resume," I say.

He leaves and returns with the resume. I dial the number on the cover letter.

"What are you doing?" Dom asks.

"I'm giving her an interview," I say.

"Good afternoon, DLR Securities, this is Heidi speaking, how may I help you?" a sultry woman's voice says. She sounds HOT. I am picturing a girl with thick, dark curls and massive, heaving boobs tucked precariously into a thin cotton strapless dress. And she's wearing those chunky sandals with the crisscrossed laces.

NO fucking way this is the same Heidi. It must be someone else.

"Hi, I'm looking for, uhhhhhhhh, Antonio Carrussio," I say. It's my seventh-grade gym teacher's name. I like it; it's poetic.

"I beg your pardon," she says. Her voice is neat, clipped and proper, like something you would hear on Masterpiece Theater.

"I think he works in your, ah, maintenance department," I say. Let's see how she handles a weird phone call.

"Ohh, I'm sorry sir, you've reached our investor relations department," she says. "Our maintenance department is at extension 3207. But I don't see anyone by that name in our company directory."

"That's ok, I'll check the name and call back. You've been very helpful. What was your name again, please?" I ask.

"This is Heidi," she says. And suddenly, she sounds just a bit familiar.

Holy fucking shit. It really is her.

She sounds NOTHING like the whiny, irritating girl from the other night. Nothing. She can take off one voice, and put on another, like you and I change hats.

I look at Dom. He folds his arms and gives me an "I-told-you-so" sneer.

Looks like we have ourselves a new secretary.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?!?!?!?!?

Red Sox 10, Yankees 3. Need I say more?

Four consecutive wins. Against the Yankees. And the last two at Yankee stadium, to boot. DAMMIT this feels good!

Look for Joe Torre and Brian Cashman to lose their jobs tomorrow, because as we know, George Steinbrenner only knows two solutions to any problem:

1. Fire people; or
2. Spend more money.

I won't soon forget Curt Schilling pitching his ass off with a tendon STITCHED to his skin, bloody sock and all, or David Ortiz pounding the ball into next week seemingly every time at bat, or Johnny Damon hitting two home runs in the same game. These guys are such an inspiration, overcoming the odds that way. And it makes me feel good, too, because they seem like genuinely good guys.

I am off to contemplate the gravity of what I have just witnessed....keep readin.....

Steverino

The office follies, conclusion

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The office follies, part 1

Wednesday. 1:00. My phone rings. The number does not look familiar.

"This is Steve."

"Hey, Steve, it's Stephanie!"

How the fuck did she get this number? Think, think.

I seem to recall giving her my business card at one point. I always carry 9 or 10 cards in my wallet, and I write my cell phone number on a few of them, for when I'm giving them out for personal use.

"Hey, Steph!" To be honest, with her having a boyfriend and with her blowing me the first night, I didn't expect to hear from her again.

I love leaving a girl's house and not asking her for her number, or where she works. I love not knowing her last name or where she's from. I love the feeling of power, the feeling of not being some weakling who is begging to see the girl again. That's just what happened with Stephanie. I figured there was not much chance of getting with her long-term, so I just said my goodbyes and left.

"How's your week going, Steve?"

"OK, yours?"

"Good! I can't see out of one eye, though."

I laugh. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"That STINGS, you know. I hope you appreciate it!"

"Guess I better lay off the hot sauce, eh?"

She chuckles. "I am so crazy with studying. I have an exam on Friday." Stephanie is a second-year law student.

"What kind of exam?"

"Contract law. Boring stuff."

"Yikes," I say.

"Hey listen," she says. "You, ahhhm, you kinda, errrr, left something here the other night."

What could I have left there? I have my wallet, and my keys. It couldn't be anything important.

"Like what?"

"Well, it's, small, and square, and....I guess it fell outta your pocket..."

Holy shit! My condom!

I always carry one with me wherever I go. But when she was blowing me, my pants were down, completely off, actually, and it must have fallen out.

"Oops!" I say.

"Oops is right!" she replies.

"Hey, I just want you to know, I always carry one of those. I wasn't being presumptuous."

"Of course not! You didn't know you were going to meet me when you left home," she says.

"True."

"So, do you need this back," she chuckles.

"Nah, that one's used, anyway," I say.

"WHAT?!"

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA," I laugh.

"Ahhh!" she says. "Hey listen, Steve, while I have you..."

"Hm?" Is she going to ask me out?

"What are you doing this weekend?"

"Nothing much. Why?"

"God, I am gonna need to decompress after this exam."

"You wanna have a drink on Friday night?"

"I wanna go see Shark Tale!" She says.

I really hate going to movies with girls. If you're on a date, it's because you like each other and want to get to know each other better. And exactly how the HELL are you going to do that sitting in the dark? Now, of course, some interesting things can happen with the lights out, but unless it's some turkey of a film that no one cares about, or the movie is in its 15th week of release, there's gonna be seven teenage kids three feet away from you chomping popcorn, so your chances of getting anywhere are slim.

Plus, I love to comment on movies as I am watching. When Paulie and I get going, we are just as funny as MST 3000.

If I actually go to a theater and have to sit through a movie, quietly, it's going to be for something that looks really special. I went to all the Lord of the Rings movies on the day they came out, and I also saw The Passion of the Christ, (AKA The Jesus Ass-kicking Movie). These were major motion picture events. You'll never catch me at Bad Boys II or Pirates of the Carribean. It's just not worth it to me, timewise or moneywise.

"How 'bout dinner?" I say.

"How 'bout not?" she says. "I REALLY want to see it!!"

She hasn't made a good case, but to keep fighting it now would make me look petty. I think I will defer to her wishes, at least this time.

"Well, seeing that it's you," I say.

"Cool!"

Bonnie sticks her head in my office. "Steve, Fred McCrory is on line 6. He doesn't sound happy."

My office phone rings. "Who is that," I say.

Bonnie shrugs. "I didn't transfer it to you."

DAMMIT! I have very strict instructions not to transfer calls to me directly. "Bonnie, answer that and find out who transferred it," I snap.

She heads back to her desk and picks up the phone. My phone rings again.

What the fuck?

"Hey, Steph, I gotta run."

"K. Call me before Friday so we can make plans!"

I pick up my office phone. "This is Steve."

"Steve, goddammit, this is Fred McCrory!"

Shit. That was the call Bonnie wanted to transfer to me.

I didn't want to talk to Fred yet. I like to prepare for a nasty phone call by knowing all possible information. Now I'm stuck.

"Fred, what can I do for you?" I never ask how someone is when they are angry. We already know the answer, don't we: "I'm LOUSY!" Why give them a chance to say it?

"Steve, what the HELL are you guys doing up there? I have $3000 in reimbursements that have yet to be paid! I got bills to pay!" Fred says. Fred is our naitonal sales manager. Total head case.

"What the hell are we DOING?" I say, sarcastically.

"Steve, I-"

"Fred, we are running those through accounting to make sure there's backup on everything. It slows it down by a day or so. "

"When were you planning on telling me this? That's a lot of money, Steve!"

"What did Tim say when you called him about this?" Tim handles most of our accounts payables. This is an old trick, guys. I'm hoping he didn't call Tim first. Psychos like this guy usually go over people's heads.

"His damn voice mail is on all the time. He never answers his phone. I WANT my damn money!"

"CALL TIM, FRED." I say, firmly.

"You better get your act together up there! I don't know what the hell is going on-"

Dom is standing in the doorway. He is pale and frightened-looking. I pull the receiver away from my ear and look up at him.

"Lila just quit," he says.

Cliffhanger conclusion, rain-delayed edition

I keep forgetting to mention this, and I never say this kind of crap, but I just want to say "rest in peace" to Rodney Dangerfield, who was my favorite comedian growing up.

I laughed a lot at what Rodney said as he was going into the hospital: "If the surgery goes well, I'll be out in a week and a half. And if it doesn't go well, I'll be out in an HOUR and a half."

**********

This can't be good.

"What did you need to talk to me about?" I say.

Lila closes the door and sits down.

Ahhhh, shit. She's quitting.

"Steve, I just spent an hour on the extra commission report. It was a total mess!"

If a customer goes to one of our agents and asks for advice on who he should finance a car with, or if we reject him for a policy and he asks for a referral to another insurer, we have partner companies that we work with, and our agents get commissions for the referrals. Problem is, the reports come in every month from several different places, and for bookkeeping purposes we like to consolidate them all into one file. But the reports keeps getting longer and the consolidation job keeps getting harder.

"I know, Lila, IT [information technology] is working on it-"

"Those guys have been working on this since the summer!" She says. "It's totally bad, Steve! They have no idea what I'm going through on this."

"Let me check and see how they are doing," I say.

"Haven't you BEEN checking on this?"

OK, are we getting into a pissing contest here?

"I don't know, Lila. Have you been asking?"

"So I have to ASK you, otherwise it won't get done?"

"Of course not. But after I assign something I can't chase after them. If there's a problem I need you to let me know."

"How can that happen, Steve?"

"How can it happen?"

"How can you just assign something and forget it? It just got totally forgotten! I thought you were supposed to be this great manager, and the whole project just went nowhere."

"Like I said, Lila..."

"But HOW can it happen? I am wasting so much time on that report! It's so frustrating! I'm working on this thing like an idiot, and no one was even fixing it! No one even gives a shit! And now it will probably take another month before they're done and I'll be dealing with all this SHIT again next month."

"Lila. Will you let me call them and check on it? Please? Before you jump to any conclusions?"

"You just don't care, do you? You totally don't care if it takes me 5 hours to do that report! You don't give a shit! DO YOU?"

I look at her. She looks tired. Her face is hard, angry. She seems....older, somehow. Part of her youthful carefree-ness is gone. I wonder if it will ever come back.

"Lila, I'll have Bonnie check on it and get back to you. If it's delayed I'll have them prioritize it. OK?"

"Do whatever you want, Steve." She storms off.

**********

4:42pm. My phone rings. It's dad.

"Steve, I want you and Lila to come down here for dinner this Friday night. I'm having the whole family over."

Impeccable timing, Frank.

"I've got plans, dad."

Explaining the Lila situation to my whole family... what a fucking picnic that's going to be. How does this sound:

Well, you see guys, I like fucking. A lot. But if I fuck the same girl for too long, I start getting all fidgety, like I have a load of itching powder down my boxer shorts. So I went out and got a hummer from some hottie, and I'm pretty sure Lila didn't find out about it, but she's dumping me anyway....

I think it needs some work.

....aaaaaand, we're back!

So much for THAT experiment...

I really believe that template was going to work. I was planning on tweaking the colors and adding a third column, and I think we would have been there.

BUUUUT.......

...then I found out that all the line breaks were gone from my archives, and they were basically unreadable.

Back to the drawing board....and, until then, enjoy my old template!!

OK, this really sucks

On my old blog, I used to be able to hit the "ENTER" key once and it would make a line break. Now, I have to hit it twice.



Not only is this a major pain in the ass; it has also removed all the very nice line breaks from my past posts, as the lovely TL has pointed out....


If I don't find a solution before tomorrow morning, it's back to the old template for me.....

Let's check in with our sideline reporter, Bonnie Bernstein

Yum.

Yep, she's still hot.

another satisfied customer angry mob

Damn! You guys hate this template, don't you?

I am wondering if it is not coming up right on certain browsers. It looks neat and organized on mine, but for people who have different screen resolutions and so on, it might look "broken".


You guys are the ones who are going to have to read this, so I might just change it back. I have to let you know, though, there are certain things I hate about my old template:


-Those little "box/arrow" things next to the titles;
-the small amount of space in the middle for text;
-the color scheme that every other blog in the world seems to be using;
-The sloppiness of the sidebar


etc.


I suppose I could fix some of that stuff without changing the template, but I just got bored and wanted to try something new.

This is a test

I just busted my ass setting up this new template, and I am not 100% sure I like it....


You guys should drop a comment and let me know how you like it. For example, does it look good on your browser, and so on.


Can't wait to hear your feedback....


2:26am

I tweaked the font size and line height a little, but initial feedback is bad.


I just hate that old template...

Stevo goes photoblogging...

Francis Albert Sinatra

How cool is this?

Here is one of my favorite pictures of all time. I love Frank's attitude in this photo. Such a cocky, conceited Guinea.

My hero.

More pix to come, hopefully.

Rain, rain, go away...

Well, the Sox didn't lose, but they didn't win. So I will post, but not about what you want me to.

Let's do this again tonight...cheer for the Red Sox, and if they win I will post tomorrow morning instead of Monday! I am such a bastard, aren't I...

Shin-barking at 6:47

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRing!!!

I turn over. It's 6:47am.

Shit! I overslept!

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRing!!!

When I first wake up in the morning, my body reboots like a computer: Nothing works for 2 or 3 minutes, and when you finally CAN initiate any kind of meaningful activity, things start slowly, as if moving in wet cement.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRing!!!

I grope to my right and grab my cell phone off the nightstand. It's off.

"RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRing!!!"

Shit! It's my home phone!

I only have one land line in my whole house, believe it or not. There are jacks everywhere, but I use my cell phone for regular calls almost all the time. I don't spend much time on the telephone anyway, though.

I run downstairs.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRing!!!

Why isn't the answering machine picking up?

I grab the phone and hit the "talk" button. "Hel-"

The receiver slips out of my hand and flies across the room.

I run over to get it and whack my shin on the coffee table. "OWW!" I yell. I fall to the floor.

I really hope I don't have to do anything hard today. Like zip my fly.

I crawl to the phone and put it to my ear. "Hello?"

"My God! What's going on over there?" A woman's voice asks. It's a pretty voice, sweet and melodic. She sounds beautiful. But my experience is, girls with "nice voices" sometimes turn out to look like truck drivers.

She sounds familiar. But you guys know my rule: I never ask who it is. It's too much fun to figure it out.

"Hopefully, you're calling to tell me I won something," I say.

"HeHeHeHeHe!" She has a hearty laugh, in which you can hear the H in every "ha". She sounds like a girl at a party who is having a really great time.

It's Christie. We broke up over a year ago.

"No, Steven. I actually wanted to call and offer you my condolences. I read about your mom in the paper."

"I appreciate the call, Christie."

"So you DO know who this is!"

"How could I forget?"

"How did she die, Steven?"

Christie ALWAYS called me Steven. I don't think she ever called me Steve, not even once. She is one of these proper girls, who says "going to" instead of "gonna", and who pronounces the "t" in "exactly". She used to write down big words that I used so she could look them up later and memorize them.

But Christie liked to have fun. She was pretty fucking dirty, as I remember. Liked it in the ass. And she liked me to call her "bitch" and "slut" while I fucked her. But no matter how horny she got, she still always called me Steven. "Fuck me, Steven, FUCK me!" She used to say. Sometimes, when it got really crazy, she used to call me by my FULL name, first, middle and last. I'd be fucking away at her and thinking, What's next? My social security number?

"Steven? Steven? Are you there?"

Huh? WTF? Oh, yeah! I was daydreaming.

"Yeah, I'm here. Mom had a stroke."

"Oh, God, that's terrible, Steven. Are you ok?"

Yep, same heartless bastard as always. Ask my blog readers!

"Ya, I'm ok."

Christie is a corporate trainer. I met her while she was doing sexual harrassment training at my office. That training manual was the hottest thing I've ever read: "Hey, baby, let's do page 45!"

"Are you still doing that training thing?" I ask.

"Yes, and I love it. You?"

"I got promoted. Remember Ross?"

"UGH. Yes."

"I got his job."

"You're KIDDING! You're the BOSS?"

"Miracles never cease, I know."

"No. I'm very proud of you, Steven. I always knew you had great potential."

"Thanks."

"Oh. And I got married!" she shreiks.

"WHAT?"

"Yeah! I'm so excited," she says.

"Who'd you marry?"

"No one you know," she says.

"Well, it's good to talk to you," I say.

"I'm doing training all week right down the street from you," she says. "We should have lunch."

"Definitely," I say, without thinking.

Is she flirting with me?

**********

Monday morning, 8:30. Dom walks into my office.

"Soooo?" he says softly, smiling at me.

"So what?" I say.

"Don't you kiss and tell," he says. "Come on, what happened with Stephanie?!"

"Not much, man, nothing."

There is NO fucking way I am spilling the beans to Dom. I don't tell anyone when I get something from a girl. Once you let someone know that, you are at his mercy. He can tell anyone, and next thing you know, it gets back to her, and you are shut off.

"I saw the way she was looking at you, Steve. You got something!"

"Nope."

"Well, let me tell you, Megan is a horny girl," he says.

"Oh yeah? Nail her?"

"Yeah! She was WILD. She sucked my dick," he smiles, nodding slowly, as if he were the only guy in the world who's ever had a blow job.

"Most impressive."

"She likes porn, so we put on some porn, and..."

Lila walks into the office. "Dom, fax for you," she says, handing him a small stack of papers. She glares at me. I think she heard what Dom said.

"Morning," I say. She turns and storms out.

"Wonder what crawled up HER ass," Dom says.

"Not sure."

"So did you at least get a blowjob?" Dom says.

"No."

"Handjob?"

"No."

"Kiss her goodnight?"

"Nope."

"So you just dropped her off at home and left?"

Ya, that's right. Right after blowing a load in her eye. I'm going for her nose next time, then I'll work on the ears.

"Yes."

"What happened, Steve? I think maybe you need a few lessons. That looked very good for you. I thought you were better with the girls than that."

He's smiling. He's breaking my balls. He wants me to tell him what happened, so he's trying to bruise my ego.

"I don't feel like getting a tracking device implanted in my ass. The guy's FBI, remember?"

This is just a cop-out. I knew a guy years ago who was in the FBI, and he said it was very boring work, mostly paperwork and meetings. Not all the cool shit you see on The X Files. And certainly nothing to be afraid of.

"Oh, yeah," he says.

Lila is back in my doorway. She looks horrible. She is pale; there are bags under her eyes and she appears unusually thin.

"Steve, I need to speak to you," she says.

The fallout begins

"I just got blown by someone else," I think, driving home after midnight.

It's shock, really, more than anything else. My lack of guilt is both liberating and terrifying.

4:46am. DING-dong, DING dong, ding-dong, DING-dong, goes my doorbell (Westminster chimes).

Who the FUCK could this be, I think, and as I walk downstairs in my boxers, I already know. I get to the front door and open it.

Lila stands there.

She is a mess. Her hair is a tangled morass, and her mascara is streaming down her face in long black streaks, like the cover of the "Live Through This" album.

"I fucking hate you," she says.

"What-"

"I FUCKING HATE YOU!" she screams. Holy shit, she is out of control.

"I hope you fucking die, Steve, I hope you fucking die a slow, painful death."

"Baby, I know you're upset,"

"No, you DON'T know anything!" she says. "All you do is hurt me! All you do is lead me on and make me think you care about me and then you dick me over every fucking time and I HATE it! I fucking HATE you!"

"Don't say that, Lila." I go to hug her. She hits me in the chest.

SHIT! That hurt!

"Why do you hate me? Because I went out for a beer with a friend? Because I have a fucking LIFE?" I say.

"Fuck you, Steve!"

"You're high, aren't you?" She doesn't really seem high, but it seems like a good thing to ask. And she was definitely high earlier.

"FUCK YOU!" Her face is twisted into an evil snarl. I took this beautiful girl and I made her ugly. What is wrong with me?

"Lila, come inside and sleep until you sober up. We'll talk in the morning. I'll sleep on the couch. You can have my bed."

"I'm NOT high! Fuck you, you asshole! I never wanna see your fucking face again!" She throws a wild punch and hits my arm. She turns and storms off towards her car.

So I suppose one last screw is out of the question?

I watch as she drives off. Actually, she seems to be driving pretty normally, so I don't go after her.

**********

Saturday morning, around 11. Lila's house.

"Hi, Steve." It's Sophie. She doesn't look happy.

"She here?"

"Come back later, Steve," she says, shaking her head, looking disappointed.

"Sophie, I need to talk to her now."

"Not a good idea, Steve."

I brush her aside and go to Lila's room.

She's sitting up in bed, staring out her window. She's still wearing what she had on last night.

"Baby, are you ok?"

"No."

"We have to talk," I say.

"I can't do this anymore, Steve. I never should have gotten back together with you," she says. "We want different things, we're different people...."

I pause. "I know," I say.

"I don't want to be mad at you," she says. "I don't want to hate you. I love you too much. It's not good for me to love somebody that much. I'm just gonna get hurt. I want you to be happy and I know you can't be happy with me, so-"

"You have to know that I love you," I say. "Please believe me, I love you so much."

"I know," she says. She's not looking at me. She's deliberately avoiding eye contact.

I don't want to "convince" her to do things my way anymore, as far as not getting serious. That really would bother me. Sure, we're "serious" in that I'm telling her I love her, but she needs lots of attention, and if I can't give it to her, she freaks. It's instinctively making me push her away. I'm tired of lying to her, tired of hurting her. She deserves better than that, and she deserves someone better than me.

"Just go, Steve."

"I don't WANNA go."

"Please? I just wanna be alone right now."

"Can I call you later?"

She doesn't answer.

I'm guessing that's a no.

As I walk out the door, I can hear her sobs.

It's all fun and games until someone loses (gets cum in) her eye

"Do you have a girlfriend," Stephanie says.

I nod my head yes. "It's going badly right now," I say.

"Me too," she says.

"Does he keep pulling the car over to arrest people?" I ask.

"I WISH," she says. "That would mean he was home!"

"Never around, huh?"

She shakes her head. "He bought me a CD for Christmas and I didn't get it until Valentine's day," she says.

"Shit!"

"I know!" she says.

"Well, that all depends," I say. "If it was Zam Phyr, master of the pan flute, that might be a good thing!"

She laughs. "No! It was "Wish You Were Here"."

"Pink Floyd?" I say.

"Yeah! I love them!"

"Me too!" I say. "So he only bought you a CD for Christmas?"

"He's cheap."

We talk nonstop for the next half hour. Mercifully, Heidi is almost totally removed from the conversation, but she shifts her gaze back and forth between Stephanie and me as we talk, as if she is watching a tennis match.

"Woooooooow," Heidi says, finally. "You guys are really hitting it off! It's too bad you're taken, Steph!"

Stephanie shoots her an annoyed glance.

All the conversations wind down briefly and the table is quiet for a few seconds.

"DO YOU LIKE MEATBALLS?!" Heidi says to me. We all burst out laughing.

"I'm sorry, I hate it when it's all quiet like that," she says.

Stephanie gets up and walks towards the ladies' room.

I wait about two minutes, then jump slightly, as if my phone is going off. I pull it from the holster and look at the readout screen. "Excuse me," I say, and walk towards the back of the bar.

It's about 10 after 10. I figure now would be a good time to check my voice mail. My phone is off, so it wasn't really ringing, of course.

I have six messages:

1. Hangup. Caller ID blocked.
2. Lila: "Steve, please call me."
3. Hangup. Caller ID blocked.
4. Hangup. Caller ID blocked.
5. Lila [sounding high]: "Steeeeeeve, you better fucking call me, shitheeeeeeaaad....."
6. Lila [still high]: "Stevie, Stevie the asshole, who doesn't call his girlfrieeeeeend...."

I stop about 20 feet from the ladies room and start deleting the messages.

The ladies' room door opens. Stephanie is walking out. I pretend not to notice her right away: No need to look like a stalker, now.

I put my phone away and look at her, smiling.

"Finally got away, huh? Tired of talking about Italian food?" she says.

"I'm beginning to wish I was Polish," I say, laughing.

"I hear ya," she says.

"Let's go for a walk," I say.

She nods her head once, slowly, as if she knew this was coming. She follows me out the front door and onto the sidewalk.

We walk about 30 feet to a corner. I turn to face her.

She kisses me.

It's nice having our bodies so close together, the way she presses herself against me and holds my face in her hands while we kiss.

Our lips separate. "You're a good kisser," I say. Pretty much standard stuff here, guys. You almost have to say it; it's like sending a thank-you note after a job interview.

"Mmmmmm, you too," she says, smiling.

"I thought we were walking," I say.

"Oh, ok, I see how you are," she says, and takes my hand. We walk for a while, towards the parking lot where my car is.

She takes a deep breath through her nose. "I'm really tired," she says.

That's my cue. "You want a ride home," I say.

She nods. She's already dialing her phone. "Meg. Steph. Steve's giving me a ride home. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

I dial Dom's number. He answers.

"Dom, it's Steve. I'm giving Stephanie a ride home."

"You bastard," he says. "You are fucking amazing." His voice is even quieter than usual, but I can hear the smile just the same. "I want details," he says.

"Bye, Dom." click.

We're on the way home, and I suddenly burst out laughing. "What's so funny?" Stephanie says.

"I'm just imagining Dom and Megan trying to talk, and Heidi interrupting them."

"HAHAHAHAHAHA! 'Are you passionate, Dom?' she says, mockingly. 'You seem really passionate!' " We have a good laugh over that one.

"You remember that Brady Bunch episode where Greg is on a date, and Bobby is in the back seat?"

"Oh my God! Yes!!!" she says.

"Heidi is Bobby!!!" I say. She is nodding and laughing hysterically.

Her face is bright red. "Ohhh, my God. You are too funny," she says.

We get to her apartment. I follow her inside; there is no invitation. I just kind of walk behind her and wait for her body language to tell me what she wants. She holds the door open for me, so it is a no-brainer.

"I have to check my e-mail," she says. She turns on her laptop and clicks her mouse a few times. Click-click-click, go her fingers on the keyboard.

The suspense is killing me. What's going to happen?

She walks up to me. We're standing almost nose to nose. Her eyes flicker up at me. Her face is truly beautiful, flawless and symmetrical. "So how long have you been with your girlfriend," she says.

I kiss her. She kisses back. This goes on for endless, wet, tongue-filled minutes.

We sit down on the couch without stopping. I move my hand up to touch her, and her hand bumps mine. She puts it on my crotch. I am hard as a rock.

"You have a BIG dick," she says, smiling.

"You see what you do to me?" I say.

She rubs my cock with her right hand, pulling my head closer with her left. I reach down, unbuckle my belt and open my pants. She stops kissing me and gets down on her knees.

She pulls my dick out through the hole in the front of my boxers.

She starts out licking it just like a lollipop. Remember that, ladies. Some girls don't like the idea of having that big thing in their mouths, especially since, even if the guy can hold out, it's oozing and dribbling like crazy the whole time. I always tell girls to pretend it's a popsicle, or a lollipop. You don't have to deep-throat it to get the guy off.

But deep-throat it Stephanie does. I watch as the entire shaft disappears into her mouth. I can feel the back of her throat. Then she slides it in and out, and the rhythm of her sucking drives me absolutely wild.

"Fucking A, Steph," I whisper. "Ohhh, that feels so good."

She pulls it out and holds it near the base, licking it slowly, bottom to top. The lollipop again.

She puts it back into her mouth. Then she deep throats me again. It's lollipop, deep throat, lollipop, deep throat, until I am ready to explode.

"Are you gonna come?"

"Yeah."

She pulls it out of her mouth with a pop, and rubs it furiously. It's pointing right at her face. It's pointing right at her....

I explode with orgasm. It's a direct hit, right in her eye.

She doubles over, her hand pressed to her face. I'm dimly aware that I'm still coming. And she's still rubbing.

I grab my Van Heusen sweater and press it to her face. "Thanks," she says, wiping my spoo away. Shit! Shoulda given her HER shirt, I think. At least she doesn't have to wear it home.

"You are a horny boy, aren't you?" she says.

"You have NO idea."

Bad Company

Other than Paulie and a couple of others, I've never been very good at choosing friends.

In high school, I hung out with the popular crowd. Really!

I admit this, even though it is, apparently, now a matter of confession. None of the really fabulous characters you read about in People magazine will cop to being one of the cool kids. They always "didn't fit in" somehow.

Even Julia Roberts tried to say that she was only moderately popular in school. Yeah, right, Julia, I am sure you were a regular Bridget Jones. As mom used to say, "Bullshit! Next case!"

And Matt Lauer just takes the cake. This guy states very emphatically that he was "NOT one of the cool kids." Yes, quite.

We all knew Matt Lauer in high school. Matt Lauer was the captain of the debate team, or the tennis team, and strutted the hallways with penny loafers and no socks, and bright pink, alligator-logo'd shirts with the collars turned up, preppy-style. And he wore sweaters over his shoulders like a shawl, with the sleeves tied in front of his chest. "Not one of the cool kids," indeed.

Me, I was no Matt Lauer, but I somehow fell in with this crowd, and I believe it was for the entertainment value. I had no inhibitions at that time (and have few now). Put it in front of me, and I would eat it, or drink it. Dare me to take a shit on the principal's lawn? No problem. TP a cheating girlfriend's house? You got it.

I would go to parties and eat an entire large Sicilian-style pizza (the best kind, BTW), wash it down with a pitcher of beer, and then, to howls of disgust or amusement, puke up the entire semi-digested mess into a bathtub, and immediately start eating again. Think of me as a corpulent court jester.

But even within the popular crowd, there was a definite hierarchy. At 220 pounds, I had about as much chance of fucking a cheerleader as the geeks on the computer science team (yes, we had one, and yes, I was on it). Overall, being a "popular" kid was fun, but I didn't get anything out of it. Kind of like eating cotton candy, or listening to 7-foot tall motivational speakers with big teeth.

Perhaps my choice of friends betrays some deep-seated character flaw. Perhaps I hang out with people whom I know can ease my access to the nefarious substances or activities I crave. Perhaps that is why I went out drinking with Dom last weekend.

Yeah, guys, we are catching up - only a few days behind, now......

"I don't want you going out with Dom," Lila says.

"Why?"

"Dom is a player. Dom is always hitting on skanky fucking whores. I DON'T want you with him."

"Nice to know I'm trusted," I say.

"That's NOT what I am saying! Why would you want to go out with him? If you know what he's doing, and you aren't doing it, why would you go?"

Ummm, for the stimulating conversation?

"It's just beers, Lila, it's no big deal."

"I DON'T WANT YOU GOING WITH HIM!!" she screams.

"JESUS, Lila! Take it easy!"

"And I HATE how your phone is always off at night. I can never reach you! You know I try to call you every night, and you never have your phone on!"

"Yeah, well I tend to sleep at night....."

"Yeah, right, Steve, you go to bed at all hours. You just don't want to talk to me!"

"OK, Lila, you're a little upset now, so why don't you call me back when you're feeling better."

"NO!"

"OK, if you insist, DON'T call me back later."

"No, Steve, I am so tired of you just assuming I'm going to be there for you all the time. You fucking treat me like shit and I HATE it!"

"How do I treat you like shit?"

"You were all lovey-dovey, and 'I love you', and I really thought you meant it, and now you're back to what you were doing before! I waited so long for you and you made me think you changed but you didn't!" her voice is breaking.

"Lila, I DO love you, baby. I was clingy for a while because of everything that was going on, but you need to understand that's not me, usually. But it doesn't mean I don't care. Because I do care very, very much."

"Well if it's not you, then I don't know if I can do this anymore," she sniffles. "I NEED you with me, I NEED you around a lot. I don't want to be away from you - I love you too much."

"Can we please talk about this tomorrow?"

"No. Tonight."

"I'm going out tonight."

"Goodbye, Steve." Click.

**********

Julian's is a place that I would never go on my own. It's one of these fantastic, popular, trendy places that is really just your run-of-the-mill bar, but because everyone is talking about it, it costs twice as much to drink there.

Dom took me to lunch on Friday and told me he admired me very much, and that he thought I was doing a good job. He offered to work on a few extra projects if I needed him to. He also asked me if I was interested in having a beer with him that night. I am sure he has got something up his sleeve, or is just kissing ass, but he does good work, and I'd rather be friendly with him than adversarial.

Besides, if you are looking to get laid, the best thing you can do is hang out with someone who is successful with the opposite sex. You automatically look more credible when you appear to be on equal footing with a studly guy, or a hot chick.

Dom and I have a beer, and I go to the back of the bar to return a phone call. When I come back, he is talking to a five-foot-ten, willowy blonde.

"Here he is now," Dom says, in his silky-smooth voice. He puts one hand around my bicep, another on my shoulder. "This guy is the youngest district manager in the history of the company," he says.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" I say. We all laugh.

"Megan, this is Steve, Steve, Megan," Dom says. Megan shakes my hand. Her hand is limp and flaccid; it's like I'm shaking a silk tie.

I attempt to let go, and Megan pulls my hand closer, inspecting my fingertips. "OH my god. LOOK at your nails!" she says. "Do you get manicures?"

"No!" I say.

"Your nails are PERFECT! It looks like you get manicures!"

No, but I do give facials, if you're interested....

Dom goes back to Megan; I go back to my beer. I overhear bits and pieces of their conversation. He is asking her where she likes to travel, and telling her that he used to live in California.

I hear her mention her girlfriends a couple of times. Is she here with someone?

Dom taps my shoulder. "We're gonna get a booth with Megan's two girlfriends," he says, smiling. "You hungry?"

"I could eat."

Megan disappears for a minute and returns with two girls. One of them is a knockout: Short, blonde, perfect teeth, flawless complexion. She has beautiful hazel eyes. The other one is a troll. I'm pretty sure she could've played a hobbitt on Lord of the Rings and pulled it off without special effects.

I don't mean to be crude. I'm not Brad Pitt either. But if you saw her, you'd know what I was saying. She's about 4'10", with greasy-looking black hair and big, thick glasses. She has a big chest, and a decent body, and she might actually do in a pinch if you were really horny at closing time. But I'm guessing this girl does not get much action before 1:45am.

"Now," Megan says, "Stephanie is taken, but Heidi is currently playing the field." They giggle.

We get one of these corner booths that seat 6 or 7. Megan goes in first, then Dom. Heidi stands there looking at me, expecting me to go next. This is an NFW.

If I go in next, I'll be in between Dom and Heidi. I'll be forced to listen to Heidi yak it up all night, and Dom will be of no help whatsoever, since he is in full get-laid mode.

I hold my hand out toward the booth, inviting Heidi to sit. She does. Then I sit, then Stephanie. Now I am in between Heidi and Stephanie, and there is no one on Stephanie's other side to compete for her time. Now, I can include her in our conversations and it will look like I am just being polite.

Heidi puts her hand on my thigh. And I don't mean a couple of inches above the knee, either: She's practically got a handful of balls! "So Steeeeee-eeeve!" she says loudly. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a district manager for an insurance company."

"I KNOW! They told me! That's very impressive!" she says.

OK, so why'd you ask, BITCH?

"So Steve, what's your last name?"

I tell her.

"Oooooooo! Is that Italian? That sounds VERY Italian!"

"Yep."

"Wow! I love Italian people. They're so passionate. Are you passionate, Steve?"

Excuse me, waitress? Could you do me a favor and put a bullet in the back of my head, please? Thanks.

"I don't know how to answer that question, Heidi."

"She gets nervous," Stephanie says.

"I get nervous!" Heidi says. "So, what do ya think of THESE two?" she asks, pointing a thumb at Dom and Megan. "They are SO gonna hook up tonight! They are inSEParable!"

She's talking really loudly. Dom turns and leers at her, clearly annoyed.

"There's that nervousness again," I say to Stephanie.

"Stephanie's boyfriend is a G-man," she says. She leans in close and lowers her voice to a whisper. "He's FBI," she says.

I look at Stephanie. She nods, smiling.

"I'm Jewish," Heidi says. "Do you have a problem dating a Jew? I used to only date Jewish guys, but they are SUCH assholes..."

"HEIDI!" Megan says.

"What?" Heidi says. She and Megan start arguing across the table.

Stephanie taps my shoulder. "Do you have a girlfriend," she asks.

Cheaters never prosper

Of the THREE people who entered this contest (that's right), only ONE did not cheat, so she is our winner: The D! Congrats and check your inbox for your gmail invitation!

The moral of the story: If you have to cheat, lie about it! Which, if you think about it, is very appropos to this blog...

The answers...

1. "Stay with me while we grow old, and we will live each day in the springtime"
Minnie Ripperton, "Loving You"

2. "Come give me a hug if you're into gettin' rubbed"
50 Cent, "In Da Club"

3. "I wanted to be with you alone and talk about the weather"
Tears for Fears, "Head Over Heels"

4. "I may have made it rain; please forgive me \ My weakness caused you pain, and this song's my sorry"
Britney Spears, "Everytime"

5. "I hope you'll be alright, 'cause me and the boys will be playin' all night."
Kiss, "Beth"

6. "You don't always have to fuck her hard; in fact sometimes that's not right to do"
Tenacious D, "Fuck Her Gently"

7. "I'm happy, feelin' glad, I got sunshine, in a bag, I'm useless, but not for long, the future is comin' on"
Gorrillaz, "Clint Eastwood"

8. "Breathe, breathe in the air, don't be afraid to care"
Pink Floyd, "Breathe"

9. "Don't think that your charm and the fact that your arm is now around my neck / Will get you in my pants; I'll have to kick your ass and make you never forget"
Avril Lavigne, "Don't Tell Me"

10. "Thought you'd never miss me 'til I got a Fat City address / Non-stop talker, what a rocker!Blue-eyed murder in a side-swiped dress"
Van Halen, "Unchained"


**********

Stay tuned for today's post....